“I’d check up on Carl Meldrum, If Joe didn’t do it, he must have. Mrs. Thrip admitted she was afraid of him. He probably got mad because she didn’t pay off on his notes and killed her in a fit of rage. She said he had terrible rages at times, and he was there last night at about the right time.”
Shayne stopped near the door, rubbing his lean jaw with its red bristle of beard. He didn’t mention his visit to Meldrum at his hotel nor the special delivery from Mona. He said, “That isn’t much of a motive for murder. As long as she was alive he had reason to believe he might be able to blackmail her. With her dead, that opportunity is gone.”
“But he’s got his clutches on Dorothy,” Phyllis reminded him. “She’ll come into money. Maybe he thought it would be easier to squeeze it from her than from her stepmother.”
Shayne said, “Maybe.” He reached a long arm out for his hat and turned to kiss Phyllis good-by. She clung to him, then stepped back and gave him a little shove toward the door. “I’ll be betting on you, Detective Shayne, and I might even be able to help some.”
Shayne was on the point of explaining just how much she had already helped when there was a light rap on the door. He put Phyllis aside and opened the door. He frowned when he saw Dora standing in the hall. Her eyes were enormous beneath the floppy brim of her hat, bloodshot and distended. She didn’t have any powder on her face and her cheeks had a scrubbed look. She wore a sleazy black dress that bulged in front, silk stockings with runs in them, and scuffed red slippers.
She stared at Shayne as though she didn’t recognize him, stared past him at Phyllis.
Shayne put a big hand on her elbow and drew her inside. Her fingers were clenched tightly in front of her on the clasp of a shabby patent leather bag.
Shayne said, “This is Mrs. Darnell, darling.”
Phyllis exclaimed, “Oh!” and started forward impulsively, holding out both her hands to the girl.
Dora made no move to take her offered hand. She stood looking at Phyllis with the same tragic lack of expression that had greeted Shayne. She wet her lips and said tonelessly, “Your wife, huh?”
“Yes. I’m Mrs. Shayne.” Phyllis caught her underlip between her teeth and glanced anxiously aside at Michael.
He had taken a step back and was watching Dora intently. Getting no response from him, Phyllis took Dora’s arm and urged her toward the divan, saying solicitously:
“Michael feels so terrible about Joe. And-oh, I’m so sorry. I-know how you must feel.”
Dora said, “No, you don’t.” She sat down stiffly, staring straight in front of her with terrifying fixity. The knuckles of her hands were strained and white with their grip on her bag.
“The reason you don’t know how I feel is because you’re married to him.” Dora nodded toward the detective. She sounded as though she was honestly trying to make Phyllis understand. She went on flatly: “Joe and me was goin’ to get married today.”
Phyllis glanced down at the girl’s swollen body in quick comprehension. She sank to her knees and caught Dora’s hand in hers. “That’s-oh, that’s too terrible,” she breathed.
Dora jerked her hand away with a violent gesture. “I ain’t-I’m not wanting your sympathy. That don’t help any. He sent Joe out there.” Again she nodded toward Shayne, who was still standing in the background.
He moved forward while Phyllis sank back on the floor. He said, “That’s right, Dora. I sent Joe out there. I’m not likely to forget that. I’m doing my best to make it up to him.”
“How can you make it up? What can you do? What can anybody do? Joe’s dead.”
Shayne said, “I know. But you’re going to have his child. Don’t forget that, Dora.”
“As if I could.” Her voice rose shrilly. “It’ll be tainted. Marked with murder-with a murder Joe didn’t do.” She was tensed and her eyes held a wild glitter in their depths. Thin white fingers played with the clasp on her bag. “Joe didn’t do it. He didn’t do what they say.”
“Of course not,” Phyllis soothed her. She reached forward to touch Dora’s fingers. “Michael knows Joe didn’t. He just told me so. He’s after the real criminal right now. Everything will come out all right.”
Dora blinked her eyes and looked down at Phyllis’s shining dark head as though just becoming aware of her presence.
“He done it. It’s your man’s fault.” She spoke slowly, as though it was by painful effort. “Joe trusted him, you know. It was him that got Joe to go straight and that’s why he was-why we were so broke we couldn’t get married. Las’ night we were-happy, and thought everything was going to be just grand.” She was silent. A tear trickled out of her left eye and down her cheek.
She blinked at the tear, staring down at Phyllis with feral intensity.
“It ain’t right,” she said tonelessly. “It ain’t fair. Other people having everything and me with nothing. Not even Joe. Not even a father for my baby.” She threw Phyllis’s hand away suddenly and her fingers dived into her shabby black bag.
Her hand came out clutching a tiny, stubby automatic and it was pointing upward at Shayne before he saw it.
Phyllis gasped and threw herself against the girl’s legs as the automatic spurted flame. A bullet whizzed past the detective’s face and buried itself in the ceiling.
Phyllis’s hand closed over Dora’s and she struggled with her for the weapon. Shayne stepped backward and watched them, amazement and pride fighting for precedence on his face.
His lips twitched in a broad grin when Phyllis settled back with the pistol in her possession while Dora slumped down sobbing.
“What are you grinning about?” Phyllis panted. “Why, you-she might have killed you.”
“Not while I have such an able protector.” He held out his hand. “Better give me that toy before it does some damage.”
Reluctantly, Phyllis dropped the. 25 into his palm. Then she got up and bent over Dora, patting her shaking shoulders and comforting her with low words.
Shayne went to a desk in the corner and dropped the pistol into a drawer. He went back and kissed Phyllis’s hair and muttered, “You’re pretty swell doings, angel. I’ll leave you two gals to fight it out.”
Tears were rolling down Phyllis’s own cheeks when he went out and left them together.
Chapter Eight: THE GHOST OF MURDER PAST
A horse-faced butler with solemn eyes opened the Thrip door for Shayne. Before the detective could speak he murmured, “I beg your pardon, sir, but you are not perhaps aware there has been an-ah-tragedy here and I don’t believe-”
“I’m fully aware of it,” Shayne assured him pleasantly, pressing forward.
The butler gave way reluctantly, protesting, “Mr. Thrip is indisposed and has given strict orders that no one is to be admitted.”
“He’ll see me. But first I want to ask you a couple of questions about the man who was killed in your mistress’s room last night. Did you admit him at five when he first came?”
“Yes, sir.” The butler’s long nose quivered and his watery eyes turned a paler blue. “I’ll never forgive myself for not sending him about his business as I was tempted to do. I judged him to be a low criminal type but I knew Mr. Thrip was expecting a detective and I guessed immediately that the man belonged in that category. But my first impression proved correct, sir, and I shouldn’t have allowed-”
“Exactly what did he say when he asked for Mr. Thrip?” Shayne broke in impatiently.
“He said he had an appointment-that a man named Shayne had sent him. As I have already reported to the police-”
“All right.” Shayne cut him off. “So you took him to Thrip. What then?”
“I have no idea, sir. I’m sure I don’t know what you mean nor why these questions should be directed at me.” The man folded his arms with solemn dignity.
“I’m trying to find out who killed Mrs. Thrip,” Shayne said bluntly. “If you’re interested in helping, you’ll answer my questions truthfully.”
The butler’s jaw sagged. Anger turned his gaunt cheeks a rosy hue. “I don’t know who you are nor what right
